


breaking the silence

by Nearly



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Curses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Sort of? - Freeform, geralt can't handle emotions, he's got a kid body but his adult mind, he's mad that he can't play his lute, they fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:09:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nearly/pseuds/Nearly
Summary: “You pissed off a sorceress,” Geralt repeats.“I may have had too much to drink, slept with her, told her I loved her in a drunken stupor, and then changed my mind and tried to sneak out before she woke up.”“God, you’re a fool,” Geralt spits, rubbing at his face in exasperation.“Yes, Geralt, I’m well aware of that,” Jaskier huffs, “now will you help me fix it?”aka Jaskier gets himself cursed by a scorned sorceress, and he just really needs Geralt to fix it. Geralt doesn't say it, but he kind of needs to fix it too.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 120





	breaking the silence

**Author's Note:**

> this was a piece for @authenticity9812 on tumblr!

When Geralt rides back into town with the griffin head strapped to Roach’s saddlebags, he hopes that for once he can just get his coin and go. Jaskier’s songs have, as promised, made his image a little better, but that doesn’t mean any town is particularly welcoming. He’s dealt with their griffin problem, they’re going to pay him, and he’s going to leave. That’s it. No interruptions.

So when he guides Roach to a stop outside the inn and swings himself out of her saddle, he’s definitively displeased to overhear his name being thrown around in conversation with the innkeep. He can hear parts of the conversation through the window as he unstraps the head, just enough to know that someone in there is looking for him, and the innkeep doesn’t think it’s worth his while to help them out.

“You told me he had been here,” the new voice says. They sound young. “I just need to know if he’s _still_ here.”

“Son, I’d be impressed if you had enough coin for an ale, let alone paying Geralt of Rivia,” a second voice replies, and Geralt knows this is the innkeep because he’d spoken to him just two days prior.

“Oh lord, you’re no help at all, are you?” the younger voice huffs. The innkeep chuckles, but whatever he says next is drowned out by the grunt that leaves Geralt as he finally heaves the griffin head off of Roach’s back. He’s been hovering outside for too long, trying to avoid dealing with whoever is inside. He doesn’t want to take another job here, and have to stay another night in this godforsaken inn, but he needs his coin from the innkeep and he’s growing tired of waiting.

Geralt grabs the head in one hand and shoves the door open with the other, cutting off the next part of the conversation inside. He lets himself stop briefly in the doorway, and take in the scene in front of him. The tavern is lamplit and warm, with a fire blazing in the hearth, and a bar laden with generously large casks of ale. The other patrons of the inn, who had been chattering merrily before he entered, are now staring at him with various faces of disgust, only partially because he’s covered in blood and carrying a decapitated head. Geralt lifts the head in a gesture to the innkeep, who’s standing behind the bar, also staring at him.

“Killed your griffin,” he says, deadpan, and drops the head in front of him. The innkeep wordlessly presses a coin purse into his hand, looking a little green at the sight of the dead creature getting blood all over his countertop.

“Geralt!” a voice pipes up from somewhere near his right elbow. A hand tugs at the leather of his armour, light but insistent. He turns, about to growl out something rude to make this incredibly persistent person go away, when he comes face to face with… a child? The kid is barely as tall as Geralt’s elbow, he’s got a lute strapped to his back that looks larger than he could possibly use, and he’s wearing a very small gaudy purple doublet. It’s a ridiculous sight, but somehow familiar--which is impossible, because Geralt doesn’t talk to children and children don’t talk to Geralt because they’re usually scared of him, with his two large swords and his monster guts and his brooding glare. They don’t just march up to him and start talking, and this whole situation is so confusing to Geralt that he stares blank-faced at this kid for so long that he’s halfway through a rambling sentence before Geralt tunes back in.

“--and thank _god_ you’re actually here, because I thought you might have left already and this man just would _not_ tell me if you had. I resent that, you know, he wasn’t even taking me seriously, and I’m fairly used to being laughed at but that was just unnecessary! Geralt, are you even listening to me?” Geralt blinks at him.

“Who are you?” The kid’s face falls. That feeling of familiarity lingers, and Geralt can’t seem to shake it. He can’t have met this kid before, he’d have remembered that ridiculous doublet, wouldn’t he?

“Geralt,” the kid says again, and he sounds genuinely upset this time, “It’s me. It’s--it’s Jaskier.”

“...What.” Geralt short-circuits. The gaudy purple and too-large lute suddenly make sense, but the last time he’d seen Jaskier he’d been a full-grown man. Now, he was a kid?

“Yes, Geralt, it’s me, and I really need your help, because obviously I am _not_ looking like my usual incredible self and nobody is taking me seriously--not that they ever do--but the point is, now that you’re here, I need you to help me fix this.”

Geralt stares at him for a moment longer, barely enough time to let his brain sort itself out and make sense of all this, before he scowls and mutters, “Outside. Come on.”

Once they’re outside and away from prying eyes, Geralt rounds on Jaskier. “Explain. Now.”

Jaskier cowers back a little, which isn’t an unusual reaction when dealing with Geralt, but somehow with his younger face it makes him more expressive than before. Somehow, the open emotion on his face makes Geralt feel almost guilty. He starts talking again before Geralt can process that feeling, so he files it away for later.

“Ah, well, see, I might have...pissed off a sorceress?” He winces as he says it, as if he knows how Geralt is going to react as it leaves his mouth. He probably does.

“You pissed off a sorceress,” Geralt repeats.

“I _may_ have had too much to drink, slept with her, told her I loved her in a drunken stupor, and then changed my mind and tried to sneak out before she woke up.”

“God, you’re a fool,” Geralt spits, rubbing at his face in exasperation.

“Yes, Geralt, I’m well aware of that,” Jaskier huffs, “now will you help me _fix it?”_

“I’ve got half a mind to leave you like this, let it teach you a lesson in dealing with powerful, magical women.”

“What? No! I can’t--you can’t-- Geralt!” Jaskier sputters, his small hands clenched into fists, “I walked all the way from the last town to find you! And I spent hours trying to convince someone to tell me where you were! You can’t just leave me like this, Geralt, because I promise you it will not teach me a lesson in the _slightest_ \--how am I supposed to play my lute? How will anyone take me seriously? They’ll treat me like a child!”

“Well,” Geralt’s lips twitched minutely, the ghost of a smile, “you are a child.”

“This isn’t _funny,_ Geralt!” Jaskier practically whines. Geralt wants to take another crack at him, but Jaskier actually looks close to tears, so he has the unusual good grace to swallow it back for once.

“Fine, come on,” he says instead, turning towards Roach, “I’m not well-versed in breaking curses. We’ll have to go to Yennefer.” He’s lucky that he knows where she is. They just typically run into each other on the road now and then, neither of them really knowing where they’ll be next. This time, though, she’d known where she was heading and had told him, perhaps in the hope that he’d tag along. He hadn’t, but he’s grateful that she told him now, because that makes this issue so much easier to solve.

Geralt tightens a strap on Roach’s saddle, and glances back at Jaskier to see if he’s following. The kid is just standing, looking a little puzzled, like he can’t quite figure out what he’s supposed to do. It takes him a moment, but Geralt realizes--he’s expecting to be walking behind again. It’s fair to think that, since Geralt does usually insist that he can’t ride with him, but that was when he was a full grown man. Now, he’d barely make it out of town at the speed that Geralt rides. He keeps his gaze on Jaskier for just a moment longer before he sighs and grabs him under the arms, hoisting him up into the saddle without preamble. Jaskier yelps and sputters incoherently, clinging to the edge of the saddle as soon as he's settled. Geralt offers no explanation, just pulls himself up behind him and nudges Roach into a trot towards the gates.

For a while, Jaskier tries to play his lute. Geralt doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, though he might have in another situation. It only lasts for a few moments anyway, a few half-hearted plucks at the strings, before Jaskier gives up with a heavy sigh. The lute is too big for him in his current state, and he can’t quite reach the right positions with his hands to play properly. He sets it down in his lap and holds it, both arms wrapped around it in a bear-hug. It’s quiet for the rest of the journey, and Jaskier doesn’t even hum like he does when Geralt gets tired of his singing and growls at him. It’s unsettling, almost, because Geralt has grown so used to the fact that Jaskier never stops making noise, but this curse has upset him so much that he’s gone silent. He seems to be fighting sleep, as well, slumping briefly into Geralt’s chest every few moments before shaking himself awake again. Geralt isn’t used to it. Normally, Jaskier can keep up with him for the most part. He’s human and can’t withstand the same kind of things a Witcher could, but he’s young and healthy and sticks around anyway. This must be a side effect of the curse, he supposes, meaning Jaskier is fighting against not just a new, younger body, but whatever tendencies a human child would normally have. Geralt tries not to dwell on it, lest he reveal that he actually cares more than he lets on. He nudges Roach to go a little faster.

It doesn't take them long to get to Yennefer after that, with both of them riding. She's taken over another lord's house, much like the time they first met. It seems to be her style, these days. Geralt pulls Roach to a stop outside the manor and shakes Jaskier awake. He mumbles a sleepy noise but blinks awake anyway, looking a little lost when he takes in where they are.

“We’re here,” Geralt says, and lifts him off the horse when he looks dubious about the task of climbing down. Jaskier mumbles a quiet thanks, and all Geralt can do is frown at the fact that his bard is suddenly so quiet. He’s never been the best at talking, or reading other people, and this is no exception. He’s been out of his depth since he saw Jaskier this morning; his specialty is killing monsters, not breaking curses. The only thing he knows how to do to help is to stoically lead the bard inside, calling for Yennefer as he goes.

“Yennefer!” he shouts, echoing in the halls of the large manor. He thinks he can hear music playing somewhere, so he leads Jaskier further into the house and calls again. _“Yenn!”_

“Oh, what now?” Geralt hears as he draws closer to the room the music is emanating from. The door is cracked just slightly open, the glow of firelight spilling out into the hall. He can just barely hear Yennefer murmur something, and then the music stops. The next moment she’s pulling the door open, and he barely spares a glance at her newest interestingly-cut gown before he’s pushing Jaskier forward to meet her.

“This fool went and got himself cursed by a sorceress,” Geralt announces. Jaskier hangs his head, and Geralt feels the slightest hint of guilt at the hurt look that passes across his face. Maybe he should let up on the growled insults, if it keeps that look off Jaskier’s face. Then again, this is the kid’s own fault, so maybe not.

“And so you’ve made it my problem?” Yennefer says.

“We’re not exactly on good terms with the one who caused the problem,” Geralt answers, “and you were next on my list.”

“I see.”

“Just fix it. He’s too quiet. It’s insufferable.” Jaskier glances up, confusion etched across his face, but Geralt doesn’t deign to give any reaction to his own words. Yennefer just raises an eyebrow, looks them both up and down. She sighs, and opens the door farther to allow them into the room.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She strides back into the room, leaving them to follow. Jaskier trails behind her, looking a little unsure of himself. It’s another odd addition to the whole situation, seeing the bard looking hesitant rather than his usual cocky self. It’s another thing Geralt wants to fix, if only because it’s so strange to see it. Yennefer leads them towards some cushions piled into a far corner and guides Jaskier to sit down, her touch gentler than Geralt has ever seen it. She says nothing, just does something with her hands that makes Geralt think she must be finding something with whatever magic she’s got going.

“...Can you fix it?” Jaskier asks, voice small. Yennefer’s bites her lip and scrunches her eyebrows, just a little, before letting a slight smile break across her face.

“I should hope so,” she says, and then she’s doing something funny with her hands that Geralt can’t make sense of, again. He’s never understood her kind of magic, really. It’s fast, and he barely sees what’s happening from his position off to the side before Jaskier is back, fully grown, staring at his own hands. Geralt lets out a breath past his teeth, pushing down the relief that’s threatening to show itself on his face. Jaskier, for his part, is grinning widely and chattering happily again at Yennefer. She’s nodding along, barely holding back a grimace at his new volume, but even she looks like she doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop right now.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cries suddenly, “where’s my lute?” Geralt cocks an eyebrow and gestures with his head towards the door.

“You left it out with Roach,” he answers. Jaskier is up out of his seat in a second. He grips Yennefer’s hands briefly, thanking her profusely, before taking off towards the door. The bounce in his step is back, and Geralt is secretly pleased to find that it’s just as infuriating as it had been before his curse.

“I have a song to compose!” Jaskier crows, and his laughter follows him out the door. Yennefer rolls her eyes, turning to Geralt.

“Alright,” she tells him, “now, I _was_ in the middle of something important, so unless you plan to stay the night, I think you should take your bard someplace they actually _want_ to hear him sing.” Geralt chuckles, a low rumble in his throat. He’s never been one for unnecessary conversation, so he nods his thanks and she nods back. He takes his leave, letting her get back to whatever strange business she has this week, and heads out into the sunlight where Jaskier is back to plucking his lute strings. He hoists himself up into Roach’s saddle, kicking her into a trot, and Jaskier falls easily into step beside them like nothing has changed.

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier says, after a moment. Geralt hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing. Jaskier grins, eyes bright, and launches into song as they begin the trek away from the manor, letting everything fall back into place where it should be.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, drop a kudos or a comment!


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